


Crown

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Costume Party, F/M, Modern AU, jon and sansa both work at a university
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: OK, yes. He might be a teeny tiny bit in love already.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 138





	Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo.... this one shot was originally going to be part of an A-Z of one shots I was working on but as I came up with more and more ideas for the letters, there turned out to be about 3 or 4 ideas that really took my interest in terms of longer fics so I've decided to change my focus to those instead. This one would have been 'C is for Crown'...

Jon should’ve guessed it really.

It was his department’s turn to name the theme for the university staff’s end-of-year party, and, being that he works in the history department, this year’s theme was ‘Historical Figures’. His own costume was rather slap-dash. He’s not so into this whole ‘dressing up’ thing so he’d just hired a black, fur-trimmed cloak along with a sword and belt from the hire store, wore all black beneath it and called himself a man of the ancient brotherhood, The Night’s Watch.

_Boom – done._

Now all he has to do is get through the next few hours while trying not to look like he’d rather be literally anywhere else in the Gods-damned world. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to slip away early – that’s the plan anyway.

Except , the thing that he should have guessed happening... _happened_ -

_Sansa Stark._

Jon would never admit aloud to anyone that he has a bit of a crush-from-afar on the beautiful redhead. She works in the Fashion & Textiles Department, on a completely different campus from his so their paths very rarely cross – but _fuck_ – did he wish that they’d do some crossing tonight.

Of course she’d come as her historical namesake. There are plenty of branches of the Stark family tree these days and Jon has no idea if she’s directly related to the infamous Queen in the North, but she’s a bit of a heroine of his if he’s honest and he’s particularly interested in the mystery surrounding the paternity of her twelve children.

No time to ponder over centuries old unknown. The Sansa Stark of today is here, in the hotel that the university has hired for their work party, and she’s wearing a replica of the queen’s most famous dress – her coronation gown.

There’s a well-known portrait of the monarch, seated on her modest wooden throne, and Sansa seems to have studied the piece for her inspiration. Her copper red hair is simple, flowing down her back in waves, her dress is lined with feathers and fur and has exquisite embroidery all over – there’s even a glittering cascade of tumbling wierwood leaves. And atop her head, two fierce direwolves meet in her silver crown.

Jon is utterly blown over by it, to be honest. A lot of work has gone into that.

He swills the last of his beer around in the bottle as Sam – dressed in ancient master garb – witters on about next term’s assignment proposals. And maybe it’s because he doesn’t know when he’ll next get the chance to be in the same building as her, let alone the same room, but Jon finds himself downing the dregs of his beer and approaching Sansa Stark, looking stunning, dressed as a literal Queen.

He stops almost in front of her. Her other fashion and textiles colleagues pause their conversation to peer at him expectantly. _Shit. Should’ve thought this through_. Sansa is looking at him. They’re making direct eye contact for the very first time. _This fur cloak is so fucking hot all of a sudden._

“I, er...” Jon clears his throat and rocks back on his heels a little. “I just wanted to say that your costume looks amazing.” She’s all smiles then. _Nice save_.

“Thank you,” she says, taking a sweeping glance down at her gown, “I made it myself.”

“That’s very impressive. I’m Jon Snow,” he says, offering his hand for her to shake. Her skin is soft, her hand delicate. She smiles a smile that resets the rhythm of his heartbeat. Jon is loathed to take his eyes from her but he must, shaking hands and greeting her colleagues.

“Oh I know who you are, _Jon Snow_ ,” she says, some kind of double meaning to her tone and the devil in her smile.

He’s about to ask – you can’t say something like that without expecting further query, surely. But Jon’s cut off by one of Sansa’s colleagues – a short, slim woman with big dark eyes and hair to match – she seemed to be dressed in a noble lady’s outfit from around 300 AC.

“So _this_ is the hot history guy you were talking about?”

Everyone’s eyes are on him again and the room just got even hotter – and more perplexing. Queen Sansa Stark bites her lip at him. Her cheeks turn cherry blossom pink.

She smiles to herself, blinking rapidly for a second or two as she seems to be collecting her thoughts. “I, um...” her lips press together before her tongue rolls out to wet them. “I sat in on your open lecture about the War of the Five Kings last month.”

_She did?_

“You did?”

“Her head nods, crown glinting under the lights of the bar behind her. “Mm-hm. I enjoyed it very much. You included the theory of Queen Sansa’s involvement in King Joffrey’s poisoning.” Sansa grinned. “A lot of teachings gloss over her history before she comes into her reign and she’s somewhat of a favourite of mine, for _obvious_ reasons.”

OK, yes. He might be a teeny tiny bit in love already. “Yeah. Yeah, me too. Can I...” he glances to her work colleagues who all seem to be smirking at what is surely an utterly besotted look he wears on his face now. Jon licks at his lips. “Can I get you a drink?”

***

Jon grabs a wad of cash and literally throws it in through the passenger side window towards the cab driver. He’s sure that more than covers their trip but there is no time to spare because Sansa is behind him, unlocking the door to her place so that they might fall in and he might continue to put his mouth on her.

Jon can’t remember the last time he’d clicked so well with a virtual stranger. He hadn’t wanted the night to end but the drinks had flowed for the remainder of the party and they were both feeling lightly buzzed by the time Sansa had taken his hand and led him into a deserted hotel hallway. She had giggled and called him her _‘Lord Commander_ Snow’ before asking how he should like to serve the Queen in the North?

_“With my hands,” he rasped, hardly recognising his own voice, his palms coming up to curl around her hips. His Queen Sansa bit her lip, the mischievous twinkle in her eye growing the closer he got. “With my body,” he growled, pressing her against the wall. “And with my tongue,” he said, wetting his lips._

_Sansa’s eyes were drawn to his mouth. They’d hardly done anything and yet they both seemed to be panting. “You promise?”_

“How should you like to be served, my lady?” Jon rumbles between kisses. They’re on the other side of her door now, but barely. This place smells like jasmine and vanilla. He cups her face in his hands and if she tells him that actually she’d rather they only kiss and watch a movie he’d consider it a good night well spent.

Sansa playfully nips at his bottom lip, once, twice. There’s a glint in her eye that he likes very much when she says, “I do believe my Lord Commander promised me the use of his tongue.”

“Where would you like it, my queen?” he whispers, grazing her ear lobe with his teeth. The little gasp he elicits makes the downy hairs on the back of his neck prickle. She whines and rubs her thighs together before pushing away, out of his grasp. He’s worried for a second but the look in her eye tells him that this isn’t over – she’s not sending him away.

“Let me just go and get out of this dress,” Sansa says, walking backwards, further into her home. She’s already reaching back, pulling at ties.

“I can help you.”

That earns him a smirk. “I can manage on my own, Jon Snow.”

It’s his turn to whine now and he has to admit, the noise sounds rather pathetic coming from him as he stands there, all alone in Sansa Stark’s hallway, sorely missing her already. Also – not that he won’t want to feast his eyes on however it is that Sansa presents herself – he was kind of hoping to be peering up at her as the Queen in the North from his intended destination of between her thighs.

“Hey, Sansa?”

“Yes?” comes the answer from the room she’d disappeared into.

“Could you... uh...”

Her head pops around the door-frame, brows raised expectantly.

“Could you leave the crown on?”


End file.
